Frank Horrigan vs Jorge 052
by ColdCupoJoe
Summary: Hello once again! Here's another addition to my battle series, this time Frank Horrigan from Fallout 2 taking on Jorge from Halo Reach! This takes Frank from the battle at the end of Fallout 2 and Jorge from just before his sacrifice in Reach. Sorry for the long build-up for this battle but hopefully I got both characterizations right and y'all enjoy!


Frank Horrigan vs Jorge 052

[Pacific Ocean, 167 miles off the coast of California, Poseidon Marine Vessel _Valdez_]

The hum of the engines aboard the enormous tanker made the Chosen One queasy, not like the toss and turn of the waves made it any better. He was used to being on solid, sandy ground, or at the very most the fixed-up Highwayman, but this… it just didn't seem natural.

He sat in the captain's quarters alone, the ship on an automated approach to the offshore oil rig. The start of his journey had been unassuming enough; find a way to bring fertility back to his tribe's lands, but though that journey alone was long fate was not through with him just yet. As he was gone, his tribe had been captured by a mysterious faction called the Enclave, remnants of a government once known as the "United States." They hadn't known the Chosen One was not there during the kidnappings, but he was going to make sure they would regret ever coming upon Arroyo.

A sudden urge sent the Chosen One running to the nearest bucket, ducking his head into it to vomit a sickly mess of what used to be brahmin meat and Nuka Cola. Fuck this seasickness. Mankind was meant to be on land, not…

"Oil rig in sight!" a voice called from outside. The Chosen One raised his head from the bucket to confirm the sighting. He had to squint but on the horizon there was, indeed, a small speck of a structure, jutting straight out of the water. The screens around the captain's quarters blipped green.

_POSEIDON OIL IFF TRANSPONDER RECOGNIZED_ they displayed. The Chosen One straightened himself out, his mind running through how he would get his tribe back to Arroyo, patting the gun on his back to steel himself.

"I'm comin'," he muttered through gritted teeth as he slipped his helmet on. "And I'm gonna make them pay."

[Planet Reach, Upper Atmosphere, Covenant corvette _Ardent Prayer_]

"Tell 'em to make it count."

The last words any human would hear from Jorge, he felt them fitting. The Spartan found himself alone on the Covenant refueling corvette, the _Ardent Prayer_, with little more than his chaingun, a fried pelican transport ship, and a 100 megaton slipspace bomb to keep him company.

"Reach has been good to me, time to return the favor," he had told Noble Six. He meant every last word as he threw his friend off of the ship. It wasn't a death sentence for Six, his armor could take most of the impact of re-entry. For himself, however…

Jorge walked around the slipspace bomb, surveying the trigger mechanism and the multiple plasma scores on its hull. He had analyzed the trigger mechanism about half a dozen times by now. It was still incapable of remote detonation. He kicked the hunk of metal one last time before throwing on his helmet and sauntering to a large purple metal outcropping within a few steps of the bomb.

"_Noble Five,_" Noble team's designated AI Auntie Dot rang in his ears. "_I am detecting elevated heart rate. Am I to understand you are in danger?_"

"No, Dot," Jorge sighed, looking out of the semi-transparent air lock to see that they were quickly approaching their destination, the Covenant supercarrier. He thought to his home planet below. Although the Spartan program had taken him from Reach when he was 6 years old, there was always a warm spot in his heart dedicated to the big beautiful planet. It was pleasurable to be back for the brief few days this mission allowed him. He would miss it. He rose to his feet, chaingun in tow. "Just sentimental, that's all."

The mountain of a man walked to the bomb once more. The bright blue panel on the side flashed in his eyes, the instrument of his own destruction.

His fingers hovered over the label "Detonate", knowing the repercussions. Send a spherical chunk of the damned supercarrier into slipspace, teleporting it into oblivion along with himself.

And saving Reach.

Jorge took a deep breath, looking out the shielded airlock once more, the planet looked so peaceful from this distance. He would make sure it stayed that way.

He reached his fingers forward, touching the screen. A brief countdown started as the bomb began to hum loudly, blue electrical sparks arcing across the device.

Then darkness.

[Enclave Oil Rig, 175 miles off the coast of California]

"A social experiment?!" The Chosen One shouted, the full suit of T-51b power armor deepening his voice to be even more imposing. He found himself in a square room, furnished beautifully with soft red carpet and dark oak walls except for the wall directly in front of him which seemed to display a large map of the world, a U-shaped metal table the only thing separating him from the man he was talking to. The man was well dressed, a black suit almost too well maintained, the look topped off with his pale face and beady eyes, a few wisps of white hair combed over to cover his otherwise bald head.

"It is part of the president's job to make the tough decisions. A lot of near-humans will sacrifice their lives for the return of humanity. Humans will prevail. No price is too high for the survival of the human race. If you were human, you'd feel the same way," President Richardson stated matter-of-factly. His brow furrowed at the nerve of the tribal before him, coming into his office seeking to command the President of the United States!

"I can't let you live after all you've done," the Chosen One said through gritted teeth. He raised his pistol and placed it to the forehead of the skeevy man.

"Killing me won't help you," Richardson said, calm as ever. "We have contingencies in place for such an event. Even so, you won't get out of this base alive after you meet Frank."

"I don't care," the Chosen One spat. He fired. Richardson slumped to the ground, the map of the world behind him splattered with a new red paint job. As President Richardson hit the ground the door slid open behind the Chosen One, a man in tattered rags running in, exasperated, flanked by two others in blue and yellow jumpsuits.

"We've got to go," the Arroyo tribesman said, barely taking a second glance at the man dead on the ground. "This oil rig's reactor is overloading, no telling when it'll go critical!"

"Good, good riddance to this hell hole," Chosen One nodded, pulling the pistol back to his hip and holstering it. "We have an oil tanker docked. Get the rest of the tribe and the vault survivors to the ship. We've got to get out of here before we run into some guy named Frank…"

As the Chosen One finished, he was interrupted by a loud thud from behind one of the wooden wall panels. The two in vault jumpsuits cowered behind the Arroyo tribesman and the Chosen One pulled a plasma caster off his back. He cautiously took a step toward the wall panel.

_Thud thud thud_

"Come out or I'll blast you," Chosen One stated, a few feet away from the thunking panel.

"Get me out of here and say that to my face," a deep voice rumbled from inside the wall with an unfamiliar accent. The Chosen One took a brief second to think. Surely if the man beyond the wall was there intentionally he could get out himself, perhaps another one of the Enclave's kidnapped settlers? An odd place to keep him, regardless…

The Chosen One bit his tongue as he put his weapon away, retrieving a crowbar to pry the panel off. The wood snapped and cracked as it was ripped away from the wall, behind it was a giant suit of armor, at least 7 feet tall, set into the concrete wall in a notch perfectly fit to him, arms stretched out to his sides. His armor was incredibly bulky, though it didn't resemble any power armor the Chosen One had seen in his journey. Framed next to the man was a giant machine gun, equally solidified in place within the concrete.

"They say visors are the windows to the soul," the man said, unable to move from his position. "See anything?"

"Before I get you out of there," the Chosen One said cautiously, his plasma caster raised once again, "you wouldn't happen to be Frank?"

"Do I look like a Frank to you?" the man scoffed, beginning to wiggle some extra room out of the concrete. The concrete began to crack and the man suddenly jolted free of his imprisonment, taking a heavy step forward as his metal boots hit the carpet with a mighty thud. He reached out with one hand and grabbed the machine gun from the wall as well, ripping it out with one quick tug, more shards of concrete raining onto the floor.

"Are you Enclave?" the Chosen One asked, a slight tingle of fear tickling the back of his neck. If he had to pick a fight with this mountain of a man, he was sure it wouldn't be pretty.

"_A nevem Jorge_," the man said, towering over the Chosen One, his face obscured by the helm with a bright red visor. "Sorry, my name is Jorge, UNSC Spartan. By the look of your armor looks like you were part of the program too?"

The Chosen One was perplexed, but his guard lowered just a bit. UNSC? Spartan? None of it made sense. He shook his head.

"Fancy suit of armor for a marine," Jorge said. His gaze turned slightly behind the Chosen One to see the body of President Richardson on the ground. He nodded in its direction. "Friend of yours?"

"Not exactly," the Chosen One replied. He moved his plasma caster to his back in a gamble of faith. If this man wasn't Enclave, he just might be able to plead his case, and he'd need as much help as he could escorting his tribe off of this oil rig. "Let's get you up to speed."

[]

"Move move, _fuss_!" Jorge shouted as he motioned for the refugees to run. The corridors of this oil rig were full of doors for flanking positions and ambushes, but if what the stranger had said about this rig was true they didn't have time to flush them all out before moving these civilians. Just had to keep moving.

The Spartan didn't have time to ponder the situation he found himself in now. A slipspace anomaly, divine intervention, whatever the case, all he knew was civilians needed protecting, and there was none better than himself for a job like that.

The civilians moved with a wave of bobbing heads, half garbed in tattered rags and leather straps and half in more intact blue and yellow jumpsuits, a bright yellow 13 on their backs. They passed harmlessly through the oil rig, Jorge taking note of the countless dead bodies on the ground. If they were as bad as the Chosen One said they were, they wouldn't be missed. Jorge's memory flashed to his days fighting insurrectionists in the outer colonies, all those faces, he wondered how many he saved. How many he killed…

"That's the last of them," the Chosen One approached Jorge, snapping him out of his own head. Jorge took a second to survey his surroundings, a high ceiling room full of stacked wooden crates, a circular port on one wall leading to the docked oil tanker, a massive 15-foot tall rectangular closed door on the opposite side.

"That was too easy," Jorge said, heaving his chaingun around. Almost on cue, the rectangular doors slid open, the sound of metal-on-metal scraping drawing the two warriors' attentions.

The sliding doors revealed a towering humanoid, 12 feet tall with incredible bulk. The man was encased in bronze metal power armor, his arms the only exposed flesh in his tankish form. His exposed arms were a sickly green, though rippling with vascular muscles. In one hand he heaved a massive gun, indistinct from anything either of the two heroes had seen before. The giant's face was obscured by his power armor helmet, the two eyes of the helm glowing a menacing red.

"You've gotten a lot farther than you should have," the giant said, his deep monotonous voice cutting through the air. "But then you haven't met Frank Horrigan either. Your ride's over, mutie. Time to die."

"I found your friend Frank," Jorge said, readjusting his grip on his chaingun before turning his attention back to the behemoth. "Before we get out of here, who, or what, exactly are you?"

"Frank Horrigan, that's who. United States Secret Service. You aren't going anywhere from here." Frank snarled, the hum of the gun on his arm revving up.

"Move! Get down!" Jorge shouted as Frank's gun began to spit out superheated plasma, the green blobs soaring over the two heroes' heads. Jorge tackled the Chosen One to the ground, covering him with his armored bulk as they ducked behind a metal box.

"You mutant scum!" Frank Horrigan could be heard from the distance, his thundering footsteps echoing throughout the room. The Chosen One crawled out from under Jorge, popping off a few shots with his plasma caster over the box. Jorge peaked around the cover to see the Chosen One's shots hit the broad chest piece of the giant, dissipating harmlessly off of the metal.

Jorge turned to the Chosen One both of the heroes still sitting behind the box as Frank continued to fire and advance toward them.

"I don't think this is a winnable battle, friend," Jorge said, already flashing back to his time on the _Ardent Prayer_. "You said this rig is going to blow at some point?"

"Yeah," Chosen One responded, "but it shouldn't explode for another half hour or so, I don't think we'll last that long."

"You won't," Jorge said, sighing. "Look, you head to the ship, get your tribe out of here and safe. I'll hold this bastard off, no use in both of us biting the dust."

"But even if you kill him, you won't survive the oil rig explosion," Chosen One said, perplexed at his companion's decision.

"I've outlived my time," Jorge said, the box they were taking cover behind jolting with the plasma shots fired by Frank. "We all make it sooner or later. Better get going, if it's as bad as you say it is they're gonna need you out there. Make it count."

The Chosen One hesitated, but as they felt the steps get closer he nodded, eyeing the hatch to the _Valdez_. He strapped his plasma caster to his back before getting ready to run.

"Covering fire!" Jorge shouted, slamming his chaingun onto the top of the metal box, holding the trigger down to send a hail of gunfire toward his enemy. Chosen One sprinted to the exit, clearing the area as plasma fire sprayed around him.

Jorge kept firing his chaingun, the 12.7mm explosive rounds pinging harmlessly off of Frank's chest, though a few wilder shots struck the giant's bulging biceps, bright crimson blood spraying but not hindering the giant.

"You seem to be a cut above the rest of the rabble, but it won't help you now," Horrigan said, pulling a small microfusion cell out of his gun to reload. "You and your mutie-bastard friends are already dead, you just don't know it yet."

Jorge stood, fully sizing up his opponent. _Only almost twice his size_, Jorge thought, _no worse than a Covenant Hunter. Maybe smarter, but not by much_.

"I'll give you one chance to get the hell off this rock before I throw you off," Jorge said, getting his gun ready. Frank took a quick second before bursting out in laughter, his bulky mass bouncing in the armor.

"HAHAHA oh I haven't had a laugh like that in a long time," Frank said between breaths. "But seeing your rotting corpse on the floor will put a permanent smile on my face. But you won't be alone for long, your mutie-bastard friends will join you pretty quick."

"You asked for it," Jorge said, revving up his chaingun. Once again he sprayed downrange. The bullets bounced harmlessly off Frank's armor once again, the small explosions of the explosive rounds not denting the armor in the slightest.

Frank laughed, pointing his wrist-mounted plasma gun toward the Spartan. A three round burst of glowing green plasma accelerated toward the soldier, striking Jorge dead center in the chest. The plasma burned a lot more than Jorge was used to with Covenant weaponry, the first two blasts draining his armor's shields completely and the third burning through his armor around his right shoulder.

Jorge grunted, but he had suffered worse. He continued to lay down fire, only the occasional stray bullet finding its way through the cracks of Frank's armor or striking his exposed biceps. Frank still stood in the open of the hangar as Jorge ducked behind another stack of crates, plasma rounds easily piercing through and splintering the wood.

Jorge remained calm, the plasma fire unable to find him behind the boxes although getting closer and closer. He pulled out the magazine of his heavy machine gun and replaced it with a new one. With armor like that, it would be next to impossible to take this behemoth down, but he had more than a few tricks up his sleeve.

Pulling a grenade from his belt, Jorge tossed the explosive in the direction of the behemoth Frank. Frank, in a show of his incredible reflexes, reached out with his off hand and caught the grenade, quickly throwing it back at the Spartan taking cover.

The grenade landed before Jorge as his eyes went wide. He quickly enabled his armor lock, freezing him in position but maximizing his shield output. The grenade went off, throwing the Spartan into the air toward Horrigan, although uninjured due to his armor ability.

Jorge crashed to the ground just in front of Horrigan, eyes locked with the behemoth while in his immobile state. He broke armor lock as Frank dropped his gun, mounting a 6-foot long curved blade to his wrist. The Spartan rocketed upwards, throwing his fist as hard as he could at Horrigan's head. His fist connected with Frank's helmet, the force of the blow tearing away half of the facemask. The torn metal showed a large green face beneath the helm, a furious red eye staring back at Jorge.

Frank dropped his plasma gun and grabbed Jorge by the throat, lifting him into the air. He swung his blade into the aloft Spartan, piercing through his armor like tin foil, jabbing him repeatedly in the gut. Jorge gritted his teeth as he tried to beat on the fist holding him in the air, to no avail.

"You're no hero," Frank scowled, the visible half of his face contorted in pure rage. "Making our reactor meltdown means this place will get real hot in here real soon. Pity you won't live long enough to see it. You're not a hero, you're just a walking corpse."

"Spartans never die," Jorge snarled back, using his feet to kick away from the monster of a man. The kick loosened Frank's grip, allowing Jorge to fall back to the ground, just in time to see Frank's blade swinging wide.

Reacting quickly, Jorge's hands shot up, catching the tip of the blade, the sharpened edge cutting through the armor of his hands with a sickening scraping sound but stopping the instrument of death. With a mighty pull Jorge tugged on the blade until he heard a visceral snap. Frank howled in pain as his entire forearm was pulled from its socket, spewing blood from the newly exposed tissue.

Jorge, now with arm and blade in hand, thrust up with Frank's own blade, stabbing through his breastplate armor, the blade puncturing upward all the way through the back of Horrigan's neck. Frank's exposed eye widened with surprise as he fell to his knees, his remaining hand clutching his own arm impaled into his chest.

"You, you haven't won here," Frank coughed blood, his face painfully contorting with every word. "You're just gonna join me in a big mushroom cloud sendoff. You didn't do nothin' here 'cept seal your own fate. Duty… honor… courage… Semper Fi…"

As Horrigan took his last breath he collapsed onto the ground, a motionless mass of muscle and metal. Jorge collapsed as well, his shoulder still burning from the plasma scoring earlier, and felt himself on the verge of unconsciousness. As his vision faded, he heard faint voices.

"He's still alive! Bring him to the _Valdez_, we need immediate medical attention here."

"Don't worry, Jorge, we'll get you patched up. Stay with us buddy. Time for us to return the favor."

Jorge drifted in and out of consciousness as he felt his body be dragged away, but he knew he was in good hands.

Winner:

Jorge-052

Stay tuned for an Evil Dead/Wynonna Earp crossover battle in the future!


End file.
